Page 90 of Duskbound

"The Adventures and Life of Krayken Vindskald," I read from the ornate cover. "Sounds riveting."

"It might interest you actually. Vindskald was around before the crusades, when Duskbound were stillborn in the wild." He laughed at his own phrasing.

Despite myself, I was intrigued. The history of Duskbound in Umbrathia was something I wanted to understand. "Haven't you just started it?"

"I've got about five hundred on my to-read list. I won't miss it for a while." He gestured to the scattered books around his chair. "Every time I figure out which one I'll read next, another draws my attention. I'll never make it through that many, but it's fun to think I might."

I tucked the book under my arm. "Well, thanks for this. And your secret is safe with me."

"Let me know when you finish it," Raven said, already settling back into his chair. "Not many people around here share my taste in literature." He paused, then added with a hint of mischief, "Well, not many who'd admit to it, anyway."

"I'm sure Talon would love to discuss historical fiction with you."

"Oh, absolutely. Right after he finishes lecturing me about proper preservation techniques." He grinned. "And proper posture. And proper breathing, probably."

I couldn't help but smile as I turned to leave. "I'll let you get back to your extremely important research then."

"Much appreciated. Very classified stuff happening here."

When I returned to the table, Aether looked up from behind his glasses, his brow furrowed. "Another fit?"

"You know, if you woke up one day and realized everything you'd ever been taught was a lie, I think you'd need some time to process that away from judgmental glances." I narrowed my eyes.

He simply nodded and returned to his reading, though something in his expression had softened slightly.

The afternoon stretched on as I poured over more texts, finding nothing of substance. Nothing that seemed like it would help stop this war. It wasn't until Aether stretched and stood that I realized how late it had grown, the eternal twilight somehow dimmer.

Before we could leave, Raven rushed up to me, pressing a small compact into my hand. "If you'd like to discuss any of your reading." He gave me a mysterious smile before disappearing into the archives.

We walked back to the fortress together, the silence heavy with everything I'd learned. My mind raced with possibilities, each one seeming more hopeless than the last. How was I supposed to present anything to Urkin when all of it lead to a dead end?

At the entrance, Aether paused. "I'm taking Nihr for a ride." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "Would you like to join with Tryggar?"

The invitation caught me off guard. We'd already spent the entire day together, albeit in silence.

"Not tonight," I said. "I need to..." I gestured vaguely at nothing.

He nodded once before heading toward the stables, leaving me alone with my growing sense of helplessness and the weight of Vindskald's book pressed against my chest.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The compact mirrorRaven had given me sat on my desk, its surface reflecting the twilight that filtered through my window. I turned it over in my hands, wondering what exactly he had done to it, if he could see me right now through its glass. I snapped it closed before setting it aside. My muscles ached from sitting hunched over archive texts all day, and my mind still churned with everything I'd learned about arcanite. Or rather, what I hadn't.

It just felt like I was missing something. Arcanite seemed to be the common denominator between both the war in Riftdremar, and the one now being waged on Umbrathia. But I couldn't figure out the way the two connected. Had Sídhe taken the stores knowing they would begin draining Umbrathia nearly a decade and a half later? I knew there was more to it, but I had no idea where to look.

I changed out of the stiff uniform into sleeping clothes, but sleep felt impossible. My eyes kept drifting to the leather-bound book on my bedside table. Its gold lettering caught what little light remained. Perhaps a few chapters would force sleep to come.

I settled against my pillows and opened the book. The spinecrackled, revealing elaborate script that could only have been hand-written.The Adventures and Life of Krayken Vindskald, Most Humble Servant to the Written Word and Observer of the Extraordinary. I couldn't help but smile at the grandiose introduction.

My fingers traced the weathered pages as I flipped through, scanning for anything useful, until the wordDuskboundcaught my eye. The ink had faded slightly, but the words remained clear.

In this, the thirtieth year of my wanderings through our fair realm, and the second spent in the dubious company of certain gentleman bandits (whose names I shall withhold for the sake of discretion and continued breathing), fortune saw fit to grant me an encounter most rare indeed—a true Duskbound.

Such beings had grown scarce as winter roses since our noble King Thaddeus claimed his throne, His Majesty being, perhaps understandably, somewhat discomfited by those whose gifts so closely mirrored his own. Yet there one sat, in a modest tavern South of what was then the prosperous township of Croyg.

At first glance, he appeared no more remarkable than any other patron seeking solace in his cups, though he ordered them with impressive frequency. His true nature revealed itself only when one of my traveling companions (let us call him Dullard, for that is what he proved to be) made the grievous error of attempting to liberate the gentleman's satchel from his person.

In a display that shall haunt my dreams until my dying day, the man rose like smoke itself, darkness erupting from his very being. The shadows moved as serpents might, wrapping poor Dullard in their cold embrace until his face turned the most fascinating shade of purple. Most curious was the complete absence of void burns upon the man's skin—a detail that did not escape my notice, though I confess my attention was primarily occupied by Dullard's rather dramatic change in complexion.

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